Chapter Text
“Who wants to help me make okonomiyaki while mommy works late tonight?” he asks the two children reclined on the gray couch with tablets clutched possessively in their tiny fists. The little girl flicks her eyes in his direction first, her thin dark eyebrows dipping in a low v between her pale blue eyes. For the millionth time, he wonders how both his children can be the spitting image of him.
“Do we have to?” the girl asks, earning a glare from her father. He crosses his arms as the two stare across the space at each other until she tosses back her head and drops the electronic device onto her lap. “I was right in the middle of a level, dad,” she whines, kicking her little feet into the open space.
“I’m only helping if I get to grate the nagaimo,” the boy says without raising his eyes, which are concealed in the shadowed fringe of his dark hair.
“You can,” their father comments with a slight nod, “but you have to wear the kitchen gloves so you don’t break out. Your mother nagged me for an hour last time I let that rule slide.”
Without another comment, the boy tosses his tablet aside, crawls off the couch and moves past his dad into the kitchen. Levi can hear the sound of drawers sliding out and utensils being displaced as the boy searches for his gloves. He grimaces thinking of the time it will take him to reorganize the kitchen. Maybe he should have just left them alone with their digital machines.
“How about you?” he asks his daughter, leveling his eyes on her again as she sheepishly lifts her screen in front of her face. “Don’t you want to be able to cook a nice meal for your husband or wife one day?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes as she lowers her tablet, setting it aside on top of her brother’s.
Leaning into the frame of the door, he waits for her to cross the room and pass by his shoulder before he turns to join his children in the kitchen. He has already placed a couple of chairs close to the island in the middle of the room with the pristine white cabinets and walls. The only color that marks the space is his children’s artwork, which papers the front of the stainless steel refrigerator in layers.
His son has shoved his hands into the child size kitchen gloves that Levi’s wife ordered online for this purpose. The little boy holds a grater in one hand and the long yam in the other, slicing thin flakes of the vegetable into a glass bowl.
“What am I supposed to do?” his daughter grumbles as she climbs onto her chair near her brother. She throws him an annoyed glance before dropping her eyes to her hands.
“You know you aren’t ready,” he remarks. “Get back down and wash your hands at the sink. Then, you can mix the sauce for me.”
“Fine,” she snaps, jumping down with her knees bent. She stomps across the tiled floor and flicks on the faucet, standing on tiptoes to pump too much soap into her small hands.
Levi turns away, gathering sugar, oyster sauce, ketchup and worcestershire sauce from the pantry. He sets the ingredients beside a bowl at his daughter’s station along with a scrap of paper where he has neatly written the amount of each item needed to complete the sauce.
Taking a spot across from his children, he begins his own work on the dish, adding flour, salt, sugar and baking powder to a large glass bowl. He uses a wire whisk to mix the ingredients while watching his children complete their tasks.
“Wash your hands with gloves on and off,” Levi instructs his son when the boy finishes grating the yam. The boy moves around the island, dumping the slimy flakes into the flour mixture before trailing away to the sink. “Bring me the stock from the pantry on your way back,” he gives his son further instructions, the boy silently following the orders.
With the ingredients mixed, he covers the large bowl with plastic and places it in the refrigerator, setting a timer for an hour. Accepting his daughter’s bowl of mixed sauce, he pops a lid on and slides it onto the shelf beside the batter.
“How about some time outside,” he suggests before his children can return to the living room and pick up their devices.
“We helped make dinner,” the girl grouses, propping a hand on her hip. “Are you really going to make us go outside too?”
“Yes,” he says, with a slight nod of his head. “Yes, I am going to make my children go outside and do something besides look at a flat screen all evening.”
“Dad,” she whines. A fleeting smile crosses his lips as she turns toward the glass door at the side of the kitchen, flings it open and traipses out into the backyard.
“Let’s jump on the trampoline,” the boy calls out exuberantly, joining his father and sister as they cross the yard to the play area, which also offers a zipline that Levi has constructed between the forks of two trees. Thick boards have been nailed to one side of each truck providing the children with a makeshift ladder to scale up to the line.
“I want to fly first,” the girl cries out the way her father knew she would. In another life, he was as addicted to the feeling of gliding from one tree to another as she seems to be.
Scrambling up one trunk, she wraps her legs around the rope and settles onto the wooden seat, grasping the hand grips above her head with one hand and releasing the pin that holds the pulley system in place. She flings it backward onto the ground as the weight of her small body sends her down the thick wire to the other tree.
Levi moves forward, retrieving the metal pin from the ground and then watches his daughter propel herself into the fork of the trunk, spinning on her seat before pushing off and heading back in his direction. She flies back and forth along the line several times before her brother tires of watching.
“Hey, when do I get a turn?” he asks quietly as his sister turns at the fork of the tree and pushes off again. “Hey,” he calls out when she fails to acknowledge his request. He sprints down the line toward her and then tries to match her speed on the return. Knowing she won’t be quick to share, Levi steps forward to catch the rope before she can spin and push off again.
“Let your brother have a turn,” he says, his voice falling dark and low to indicate he’s not in the mood for an argument.
“Fine,” she replies, jumping to the fork in the tree and then to the ground on the other side. She lands nimbly and then takes a place by her father, pulling her arms across her chest, and standing at attention to watch her brother’s technique, which she often criticizes.
The boy takes his time climbing up the makeshift ladder, accepting the rope from his dad and settling onto the wooden seat. He pushes off and careens down the line letting out a jubilant hoot.
“He always has to act like such an idiot,” Levi’s daughter mutters, watching her brother spin on the seat and fly back in their direction.
“Just because he’s better at showing his emotions than you are doesn’t mean he’s acting like an idiot,” Levi corrects, glancing down at his daughter. The words are those of his wife and feel false in his mouth. He remembers feeling the same as his raven haired little girl, thinking emotion was only displayed by the stupid.
“Whatever,” she grumbles, flinging her arms away from her body and spinning on her heel to stalk toward the trampoline. Pulling herself up without using the ladder, she walks along the edge of the structure, unzipping the netting his wife insisted he install for his children’s safety. She leaves the netting open, pulling her shoes from her feet and tossing them onto the ground before bouncing her way to the middle of the trampoline.
Just as both he and his daughter knew would happen, the boy abandons the zipline to join his sister on the trampoline. He sets his shoes neatly outside the netting before climbing through and securing the zipper behind him.
Levi moves down the wire to retrieve the zip line seat, pulling it to one of the trees and securing the pin. He leans into the tree, crooking a foot onto the trunk with a bent knee as he watches the children bounce. The boy is tentative, bouncing from his feet to his rear and laughing joyously. The girl is reckless, bending her knees and propelling herself upward, spinning into a somersault when she is high enough.
After some time, the device in his pocket vibrates, and he calls to his children to usher them back indoors for the completion of dinner. They move away to the living room assuming their cooking duties are over. He considers calling them back. Deciding he might enjoy the solitude more, he moves to the sink to wash his hands.
Pulling a head of cabbage and the package of pork belly from the refrigerator, he retrieves a cutting board from the tiled wall beyond the counter and returns to the island to chop the ingredients. Eggs, tenkasu and pickled ginger are added to the bowl he left resting in the refrigerator before the cabbage is mixed in one-third at a time.
Setting a skillet on the stove, he adds oil and waits for the pan to reach temperature before spreading a layer of his mixture within. Slices of pork belly are arranged on top before he covers the skillet and sets a timer. He moves to the doorway, gazing across the living room at the tops of his children’s heads.
Feeling something sliding against the leg of his slacks, he glances down to see the family’s big black cat, Titan. “Has Titan been fed today?” He lifts his voice to ask his children if they completed the chore assigned to them when he agreed on the adoption of the pet.
“It’s his turn,” Levi’s daughter mutters without taking her eyes away from her screen. “I fed Titan yesterday, and cleaned the box too,” her voice drops lower in the same manner as her father’s does when he’s annoyed or being especially serious.
“I’ll give Titan a bit of pork belly for right now, but one of you must feed him his regular food after dinner,” he instructs his children, moving back to the stove as the timer goes off.
Flipping the savory pancake to one side of the skillet, Levi quickly slices a bit of pork belly and adds the trimmings to the other side, replacing the lid and starting another timer. He watches through the lid to see the bits of pork curl and brown, removing them when they are efficiently cooked and spooning them into a small bowl, which he sets on the floor for the cat. He runs his fingers down the animal’s soft fur a couple of times and then moves to the sink to wash his hands.
Soon he has three okonomiyaki cakes arranged on plates on the counter ready to be dressed. “I need help again,” he calls to his children in the next room. The boy thunders in noisily, but the girl drags herself along moping.
“What do you need now?” she grouses, coming to a stop beside her father.
“You can get your sauce from the fridge and drizzle it over each one,” he instructs, “and your brother can add the mayo.” He watches his children complete their assigned tasks before sprinkling katsuobushi, aonori and green scallions over each cake. More pickled ginger is used to garnish his plate.
As his children move toward the small dining room table with their corresponding plates, he sets the kettle on a burner and flips the switch to heat the water. Three mugs are taken from a cabinet with diffusers of tea placed inside in preparation for the hot water. Levi lifts his own plate, retrieves a fork from the drawer and crosses the room to take his place between his children.
“How is it?” he asks, glancing at each of them before taking a bite of his own food. His son has devoured a fourth of his okonomiyaki, while his daughter is working through the cake more slowly, savoring each bite.
“Good,” they remark almost in unison.
“How late is mom going to be?” his daughter asks between bites. “I have math homework I need help with.”
“You don’t think I’m able to help with math?” he questions, turning his eyes on her for a moment before cutting a piece of okonomiyaki with his fork and raising it to his lips.
“Mom’s just more patient,” she answers, her brow wrinkling as she thinks. “You get frustrated and then lapse into a drawn out lecture about the importance of hard work.” He flicks his eyes in her direction, suppressing a smile. It does sound like something he has been guilty of in the past.
“If she isn’t home in the next hour or so, we’ll make an attempt anyway,” he reasons, satisfied when she doesn’t argue. “Is your homework done?” he asks, turning his eyes on his son.
“Yeum,” the boy answers, talking with his mouthful, and Levi feels his own brow furrow, a mirror of his daughter’s.
“Don’t forget to feed Titan,” he reminds the boy, noticing that his son is almost finished with his meal.
The kettle on the stove whistles loudly, and he chastises himself for failing to pay attention to it. The water will be over-boiled, but he doesn’t want to take time to refill it and start the process again. He moves away to the stove, filling the mugs and setting a new timer to steep the tea. Leaning a hip into the counter, he waits instead of returning to his seat.
“I want milk in mine,” his daughter chimes from the table, and he looks across the space to see her watching him with a wide toothy grin.
“Ha ha,” he returns, knowing that she is just trying to get a rise out of him. She doesn’t like anything added to her tea anymore that he does. Milk is only added to his son’s cup on occasion by his wife, who also takes cream in her tea.
When the timer sounds, he removes the diffusers, dumping the tea leaves in the trash below the sink before rinsing them and placing them in the dishwasher. He carries the three cups across the room, placing one before each of his children and taking the third for himself.
“How is school going?” he asks, taking a sip of the black brew that he loves so much. “I trust you are both still earning top marks.”
“Good,” the boy mumbles, slurping the tea from his mug.
“Mine would be going better if my teacher wasn’t such an idiot,” his daughter says, holding her mug with her fingers splayed across the brim, taking dainty sips of the liquid the way she has learned by watching her father. “Mr. Erwin is always smiling. I don’t think he takes anything serious, not even when he’s teaching us about war.”
“We don’t complain about our teachers,” his wife’s voice drifts into the room as she makes her way through the door from the garage. He has been so engrossed in his children and his tea that he hasn’t heard the sound of the electric door. His wife moves around the room, dropping kisses on the top of each of her children’s heads before moving to his side. She bends her knees and leans in to place a quick gentle kiss on his lips.
“Hey,” she says softly, a smile playing across her face, signifying how happy she is to be home and to see them.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “You can finish mine. I don’t mind.” He motions to the pancake he has barely touched.
“Maybe just a bite or two,” she says, picking up his fork and leaning over him to cut a portion and pop it in her mouth. “Mmm…” she hums the way he knew she would. “It’s always so much better when you make it.”
“We helped,” his daughter says brightly, in clear contrast to the grumbling he received when he forced her assistance. He tosses the little girl an amused look before turning his eyes to his wife again, watching her drop into the chair across from him. He pushes the plate across the table, and she grabs the fork for another bite.
“How was work?” he asks, taking another sip of his tea. Her hair is slightly mussed, but other than that she looks as pretty as she did when she kissed him goodbye this morning.
“Good,” she says after chewing and swallowing her bite. “We just had some stuff come up at the end of the day that had to be addressed before I could leave.” She cuts another piece off the pancake, but raises her eyes to him before placing it in her mouth. “Did you get much work done before the kids got home today?” she asks.
“I got around ten pages done,” he returns, thinking of the manga pages arranged on the desk in his small office. His latest issue is due to the publisher by the end of the month, but he is on track to complete the work on time.
“That’s great,” his wife responds enthusiastically. “So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the night?” she asks, tossing him a mischievous glance before turning her attention back to her children.
“I need help with math,” his daughter says, raising her mug and drinking through her fingers again. “Dad was too busy.” He rolls his eyes, but chooses not to respond to the comment.
“I just have to feed Titan,” his son says, and he’s thankful he doesn’t have to remind the boy a third time.
“I could use some time to brainstorm ideas with you,” he says, raising an eyebrow in his wife’s direction. Joy blooms across her face in the form of a beautiful smile.
“I am glad to be home and of service to you all,” she returns, popping another bite of okonomiyaki in her mouth.
After dinner, he rinses the plates, forks and mugs and secures them in the dishwasher before starting the cycle. His son feeds the cat and then disappears to his room with his tablet. Levi stands watch, leaning against the kitchen counter, as his wife patiently explains the assignment and answers questions until the math work is done and the little girl returns to the living room for her own device before trailing down the hall to her room.
Levi bends to pet Titan one more time before flipping off the lights and following his wife down the hall. He stops in his office to pick up the pages he completed before trailing behind her into the bedroom. She coos and hums over his work, gushing about his talent. He returns her words with quiet scoffs before rewarding her with sweet kisses and more. Then the house grows quiet as the Ackermans drift off to sleep, affording him several more precious hours to work in peace.